The Life of a Snake: The Sidewinder
by CoT
Summary: The life of Budd a.k.a. Sidewinder, from his unruly youth to his untimely death. My first writing project in w hile, so please leave constructive criticism if you don't like it.


**The Life of a Snake**

**The Sidewinder**

**P**rologue

**A**n** U**npleasant** I**ntroduction to an** U**npleasant** M**an

"Number two, would you step up to the red line please?"

The man in question took a single step up to the line of red tape in front of him, the sound of his brown ostrich leather boots slapping against the hard concrete dully resounding throughout the small room. His features were now fully in view as the dim light shined on his face. His tanned skin was shining with sweat as tried to play it cool and his squinted eyes were struggling to focus directly in front of him. In an act of rebellious obnoxiousness he spit his chewing tobacco on the tinted glass in front of him and he didn't get a good reception from the sheriff behind it.

"Sir, settle down now."

He chuckled a cocky chuckle with a smirk to match, showing his yellowed teeth from years of chewing and smoking.

"If I'm not mistaken, you're the one that's goin' red in the ears."

Now he wasn't really able to tell if the sheriff's ears were red or not, due to the ridiculously large ten gallon hat on his head, but he was sure now that he had touched a nerve. The corner of the old redneck's mouth twitched in frustration and he smirked back at the arrogant young man on the other side of the glass.

"You shut yer mouth boy and answer my question… What's your name sonny?"

"Maybe I'd tell you if you didn't already name me 'sonny'."

That was enough for the sheriff. He swept his hat off of his head to reveal a shock of grey and brown hair that stuck up in odd angles due to his constant wearing of the damned thing.

"You little mother fuckin' punk, answer my god damn question! What's yer name!"

With a cigarette now smoldering between his teeth and his gold- encrusted steel lighter back in his shirt pocket, he answered the question, but not without a long silence between the question, the smoke and finally the answer.

"My name is Budd, and I want my fucking phone call."

A long silence followed his words, during which the sheriff turned to the frightened elderly woman behind him and asked in a calm voice that was still heavily layered with that southern drawl.

"Ma'am, do you recognize the voice of the man in question?"

… A pause, and then she silently nodded, still quite shaken from the events that had happened barely two hours ago.

The old convenience store with the big Red Apple cigarettes sign that had been up in the window as long as anyone could remember was silent, real silent, like on some lonely desert night where only the coyotes ,prostitutes and their Johns were on the prowl. In fact, it was one of those exact nights tonight. But it was considerably more busy than it had been back in the day when that little corner of El Paso had forty people and most of them were gentlemen and ladies. There still were the same whores and Johns and coyotes out and about but there were a lot less coyotes, more whores and Johns and now plenty of gangsters on the street corner. One of those gangsters was staring directly at that big Red Apples sign at the convenience store.

The florescent open sign flashed and buzzed and was left brightly shining into well past midnight. Budd knew this well and had been observing this for a long time now. Well, he definitely wasn't as intelligent as his older brother, but it didn't take him too long to figure out the habits of a store manager.

He had this natural feel for all things related to crime or things that could get him some quick cash, not to mention all the things Bill had taught him a long time ago. All the tricks a good criminal or even just some petty, two- bit thief needed to know to make good cash were taught to him by his older brother who was very harsh, yet at the same time almost loving and caring. He had taught him these things as though they were some kind of code that was passed on from on generation of bastards to the next. And Budd soon found out later that was exactly what Bill was teaching him.

Rules and Guidelines for a Criminal

#1: (And this is the most important.) Never, ever do any job that you can't handle. If you know that you're gonna get in over your head, just don't do it.

#2: Never fuck with a bigger criminal than you. Don't go sticking your nose into the business of someone with a higher reputation than yourself or you could get yourself killed. This closely follows along with #1.

#3: Always be clean with your work. Never leave too big a mess or you'll be booked for sure.

#4: Never let your temper get ahead of your better judgment. You don't want to get all hot- headed and blow someone's brains out before you think about what you're doing.

#5: Make a plan before you do a job. Never rush into a situation that you haven't even fucking thought about yet.

Now those weren't the only Rules and Guidelines for a Criminal, there were five or six more actually, but the story at hand is what really matters, and not some made up rules that most criminals probably don't actually go by or even know.

Budd, at the present time, was running dangerously low on cash, booze and tobacco products, cash being the main problem because without cash you couldn't buy the booze or tobacco, so Budd set off to "obtain" the necessary funds. He was now nineteen years old, and living on his own in a shithole that his landlord adamantly called an apartment. Add another thing to the list… Rent overdue. Yet another problem solved with the "obtaining" of cash. He made most of his money by doing jobs for the local gangsters, beating up "Those fat fuckers who haven't paid their dues", selling weed and cocaine, basically being a drug- trafficking enforcer.

But this week no jobs were available and he needed cash now. So his next best way to get some quick bucks was to rob some unsuspecting couple's house or some store. He was about to do the latter, his cigarette burning brightly in the darkness of the alleyway and a devious sparkle in his eye that he got when he was about to do some deviant act.

Budd nonchalantly strode across the street, his loud footfalls heard by everyone around him. He got a few stares and none of them were too friendly, but he ignored them and continued on. His cigarette was clamped down in between his teeth and his face was adorned with a small smirk that made you think smart ass as soon as you laid eyes on him. He confidently stopped just outside of the store and slowly opened the door. He tilted his hat downward so his face wasn't visible as the tinny little bell above his head rang upon his entrance. His slightly sweaty hand gripped his .44 magnum Desert eagle as he stepped up to the counter. The elderly Asian woman was obviously nervous at the sight of Budd, but he took no notice of this. Without a second thought his gun was pointed directly between the eyes of the elderly Asian woman.

"You wouldn't mind emptying the register, now would ya?"


End file.
